The lights began to shine, and flickered, a bright, white glow enveloped the room. His eyes were hazy at first, but came to, and could see clearly, small tears wet his eye-lines and down to his cheeks. It was a small, classroom-like room, the desks were broken and scattered across the floor, the chairs were stacked up on one another, the chalkboard was cracked and chiselled away, and a drawing of a small clown was on the corner of the chalkboard, drawn with white and red chalk. The ceiling had a drywall coloured in a cream-white paint, with two fans, one spinning at medium speed and another with one fan broken off, and dangling from the wires. The floor was coated with mosaic tiles of the same stark colour, almost all were broken, and in the corner, a small, box television embedded in the wall, and a floor mirror, half broken off with a clock above it, it looked brand new.

His face was heavy, and when he tried to move, his spine ached severely. He tried to speak, but his tongue was pulled from his mouth, and onto a small contraption in front of him, a metal bar wrapped around the back of his tongue, and a pedestal with one thin line of a hole; he was standing behind a tall desk. The only noise he made was moans of agony; saliva was dripping from his mouth, and dripping slowly onto the floor. He tried to swallow, and his throat ached as well, he looked into the half-cracked mirror, and saw himself. A young adult stripped of his shirt, wearing nothing but jeans and boxers, his feet were bare and jarred to the floor, and his hair was messy. A closer inspection of himself, he could make out another metal bar strapped to his forehead and connecting down to his waist, he was constricted.

The television switched on, showing nothing but static, which startled him and got his attention. He moaned some more, looking around the classroom, the only door out of the classroom he could see was behind him, through the mirror, a yellow light shining under it. The television flickered black and white, until it stopped. A small figure appeared on screen, a ventriloquist doll, with messy black hair, big red eyes, wooden skin and spiral cheeks painted red, similar to the doll on the chalkboard. It reared its head to look at him, their eyes met, his eyes still blinking with tears.

"Hello, Brad." The doll's mouth flapped open, speaking his name in an extremely deep, robotic voice; Brad quieted himself down to listen. "I want to play a game. For years, you have abused the ones around you, using them as toys to your own selfish deeds, the one tool you have use to create the chaos, your own voice. The way you abuse people tears them apart, breaking them, and you are too ignorant to see that." Brad clenched his fists, which were the only body parts able to move freely, and squealed violently. "You especially abuse your family, your mother cared for you, and provided for you, but you took that as simple slavery for yourself. Your father and grandmother have watched as you use your family, and your little brother, instead of protecting him from harm, you endorse the torture he goes through, all because of your snake-tongue. Every day you abuse him, driving him to depression, and isolation from everyone else. You think you're god's little gift? Let's get you to use the things he gave you, to save your own life. The device you can see in front of you is strapped to your little serpent you call a tongue, "A small razor saw elevated out of the thin hole, "let's see you help yourself and others, by destroying it. This saw must reach the end of the metal bar constricting your tongue, and will deactivate the chains binding you, allowing your freedom." Two metal rods appeared from the ground, with handles on them. Brad squealed even louder, "Whad the thud?!" He managed to say. "If you fail to do so, the bar constricting your body, will let loose a series of spikes, breaking through your spine. The saw will begin spinning when you tug on the handles you see beside you, if you release them, the saw will stop. And now, the weights that appear below you," He looked down, barely, to see a pair of weights, aligned with his mouth, "If this is filled with 4 pints of your saliva, the spikes will spear through you without temptation. When this message ends, the timer begins" Brad thrashed violently, almost tripping, and messing with the bar holding his tongue. "One question, Brad, will you go through with it? How much blood will you shed to stay alive? You have 60 seconds." The television switched off with a flash, and the clock above the mirror began ticking.

"Nrrrrrrrm!" He screamed, thrashing his head about. His heart was pounding, and his hands became sweaty. The clock was ticking, 5 seconds had passed, and he was wasting time. He reached for the handles to his sides, and tugged hard, triggering an effect; the saw in front of him which was aligned with his constricted tongue began to move. He panicked, and immediately let go of the handles, and the saw stopped. His eyes flooded with tears, and he began to moan. Brad reached for them again, and tugged, starting the saw again. His tongue flapped about, and the saliva dripping from his open mouth, filled the weights with half a pint already. He aligned it with the saw, and it moved towards his tongue slowly. It cut through the first part of his tongue, spreading blood across the floor, separating the tissue apart. His screams filled the classroom; the sound was no longer human. The weights filled with a pint, with a bit of blood as well, which didn't help. The saw tore through half of his tongue already, as his hands became increasingly immobile and sweaty, and accidentally released the chains; stopping the saw. It was stuck there, covered in dark, black blood, and the weights had 3 pints of saliva, and blood already. He wiped his hands on his jeans, as his whole body was shaking with fear and pain. He had 30 seconds left, and immediately reached for the handles, and tugged hard. The saw started up again, and sprayed black blood inside his mouth, across his face and on the floors in front of him, almost choking on his own blood, he could taste it. He had a quarter left to go, till the saw connected with the metal bar constricting his tongue. He accidentally moved his tongue, and cut through the bottom, filling his mouth with a pool of blood, dripping into the weights. 3 and a half pints of blood and saliva filled them, and 40 seconds had past, drawing his death closer. He balanced his tongue again, and continued with the sawing. He looked at the clock, and screamed for his life. And finally, the saw reached the end of the metal bar, stopping. But the clock was still ticking, he remembered he moved the bar back when thrashing about, and tampered with the saw's path.

"He was so ignorant." He heard from behind, the door behind him began to open, as two cloaked figures walked in. The weights reached 4 pints, but did nothing, it was only meant to scare him. The cloaked men came into his vision, with 10 seconds left. His eyes were filled with tears and blood, breathing brokenly and moving his separated tissue of a tongue. The first figure pulled back his cloak, and revealed himself to be a middle-aged man with dark, blonde air, and a stumpy leg, his nametag read; 'Dr. Lawrence Gordon.'

The other figure lifted up his cloak, and revealed himself to be his younger brother, now eighteen years old. The time reached zero, with a final tick.

"Game over."

One final scream triggered 6 spikes to drive through his back, and come out with his blood and organs out of his torso, one through his head, one through his pectorals, and the res through his stomach, dripping black pools of liquid from his head and chest onto the floor, filling the cracks with it. Sawing through his tongue was a waste of blood…

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